


'I think... I drank too much last night...'

by TheCabinKey



Category: Silent Hill
Genre: Gen, Party
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-08
Updated: 2013-03-08
Packaged: 2017-12-04 15:40:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/712355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheCabinKey/pseuds/TheCabinKey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cynthia Velasquez attends a costume party in South Ashfield Heights, held by her friend Rachel. There, she gets to know Eileen Galvin, and the trio of ladies endure a brief but mysterious misadventure; a disquieting event that is a prelude to Cynthia's tragic tale.</p>
            </blockquote>





	'I think... I drank too much last night...'

**Author's Note:**

> -Rachel and Mike are canon but unseen characters in Silent Hill 4  
> -Story takes place the night before the events of Silent Hill 4  
> -Written as if Cynthia lives in South Ashfield Heights, as her home is never revealed in the game.
> 
> Enjoy!

Cynthia wondered if her corset was too risqué. She rested her hands on the bathroom counter and leaned forward. Her vanity mirror was bordered by show-girl light bulbs that hit her olive-colored face and cleavage at every angle.  
“Am I too old for this?”  
She thought she'd gawk at herself in her corset if she were twenty, but she was now twenty-nine. She loved her figure although. The corset was dark purple with traces of rouge near her breasts. Dark purple bands were around her wrists, and straps grew up her chest and around her neck like a choker. It was complete with fishnet stockings and heels.  
“But damn, it is _fine_!”  
She pushed a strand of hair out of her face, half-heartedly tucking it into her stylish bun, and left the bathroom. Her small television told her of a severe stabbing that recently happened in the subway station.  
 _Good thing my sweet ass isn't stepping one foot outside tonight._  
The news segment also revived an old memory. She wondered where the Creep was now, maybe it was him. She wouldn't be surprised.  
She turned off her television and grabbed a dish of homemade Guacamole dip off the kitchen counter, breathed deeply, and exited her ground-floor apartment, room 103.  
To her relief, no one was in the cold hall to see her outfit. Her wide-eyed, statue stance with stiff, dish-holding arms loosened. The only sounds as she walked down the corridor came from the clicking of her heels, and the sound inspired her to do a model's catwalk. She stuck out her tongue and did a little spin, almost losing her balance. Laughing to herself, she reached the end and entered the lobby.  
Empty.  
Not what Cynthia expected. Another wave of relief. She casually crossed the open space while looking up the stairs to the second floor, and turned to use her back to open the door of the west side of the building, hands occupied.  
Empty.  
 _Hm._  
Rachel's apartment, 106, was directly to the right of her. She heard techno music playing.  
 _That'll angry Frank._  
Frank Sunderland was the superintendent who lived directly across from Rachel. She kicked the door. No response. Kick. Rachel opened the door swiftly, took one look at Cynthia, and let out a shrill half-laugh half-yell.  
“Miss Velasquez has _arrived_!”  
“What do you think!?”  
“It is hot!”  
Rachel grabbed the Guacamole dip (oh, so Spanish of my Spanish friend, thinks Rachel) and put it on a table with a city of party snacks. Cynthia walked in and closed the door. Rachel then hugged her, but was careful not to smudge her make-up nor knock off her pink bunny ears. Rachel's costume was a two-piece that exposed most of her belly and her breasts, and the bottom piece was a short skirt. Cynthia's worries of looking too risqué were diminished.  
“What do you think of mine?” She raised her eyebrows, put a hand on her hip, and used the other to flip back her short blond hair that barely went down past her ears. “Hm?”  
“Sexy, honey!”  
“It looks like my stuffed rabbit!” Eileen said as she walked towards the two.  
“Yeah, well, you stole my nurse idea.”  
“You're a nurse for a living, you needed a change.” Eileen put her elbow on Rachel's shoulder, smiled, and turned to Cynthia.  
“You look great!”  
“As do you, m'dear!” Cynthia didn't know Eileen very well; she'd only met her once before. She wore a pink and white one-piece costume that left her legs bare like a one-piece bathing suit. She also wore a pink garter, choker, and nurse's cap. Her hair was short, but longer than Rachel's.  
“I don't really feel like myself, but thanks.”  
“But that's the whole purpose!” Rachel said, winking at Eileen.  
Across the room past the open kitchen, more men and women in 'exotic' costumes stood mingling with beverages. Cynthia knew they most likely didn't live in South Ashfield Heights. The apartment was lit by the open kitchen's light, a lamp, and a pink lava lamp, giving the apartment a dim, night-club feel. Cynthia quietly laughed at Rachel's efforts.  
“So ladies, how about our first shot of the night?” Rachel asked.  
“Absolutely! Tequila?” replied Cynthia.  
“Yes!”  
“That was quick,” Eileen laughed.  
“It's a Friday, sweetheart, you're taking a shot,” Rachel demanded. “I've had my share of sick people at the hospital this week, maybe the alcohol will flush the germs out of me.”  
They went and sat on three stools surrounding a small kitchen island, and Rachel filled the girl's shot glasses with Tequila.  
“To Friday!”  
“To Friday!” Cynthia and Eileen echoed. Swig. The guests in the living room looked over at them, and came to the kitchen to take shots themselves, inspired. 

 

The girls reunited. They sat on the three stools in the kitchen after dancing, and acted as if they hadn't seen each other in years, when in the small apartment, they were only a few feet away from each other at all times. Becoming drunk sends one miles away. Cynthia felt the haze, the empowerment, the feeling of control and unusual happiness. _Home ruler at the extremity of a city_. The feeling rested at the back of her throat. She had a tequila sunrise – extra grenadine – and Rachel and Eileen had lime margaritas, also channeling the alcohol into ecstasy, such happiness.  
“You know,” Eileen tried to say between a deep wheezy laugh, “I got home from work and I think it moved.” She was laughing hysterically, and Rachel joined in, putting her left arm around her shoulder, almost spilling her drink.  
“What moved?” asked Cynthia.  
“My rabbit. My toy rabbit. Stuffed.” Laughter.  
“Wow Cynthia, your accent gets stronger when you're drunk,”said Rachel.  
It was true, Cynthia's native Spanish tongue escaped her; alcohol sets it free.  
“Damn straight it does!” Wink. “I think the boys like it.”  
“Speaking of boys, I invited Henry, that bastard.”  
“You invited him?” Eileen's eyed widened.  
“Yes, I finally met him in the lobby. He's a cutie. Mmm!”  
“When was this?” Eileen straightened up.  
“Bout' a week ago. He never got back to me.”  
“I haven't seen that sweetheart in a while.” She smiled and took a big sip of her margarita. “We live on the same floor. I even asked Frank to check on him.”  
“I was hoping to see him come shirtless in leather-studded straps, then we'd fuck later.”  
“You'd have to fight for him. With these outfits we'd all make an interesting first impression.”  
All three girls laughed, even though Cynthia had no idea who Henry was.  
“Ah, he's too shy.”  
 _Knock._  
Cynthia opened a drawer near her hands, pulled out a pair of scissors, and snipped through the ribbon of fabric around her neck, uncaring. _Breathe._ Freedom.  
 _Knock._  
She looked towards the door while sipping the grenadine at the bottom of her glass. She turned to Rachel.  
“Hey darlin,' someone's at the door.”  
 _Knock._  
“It's Henry, he made it!”  
“Wait!” Cynthia exclaimed. “It might be Frank tryin'a get us to turn down the music.”  
“I cared for his daughter-in-law in the hospital until she died. The man'll never try a thing.”  
Cynthia realized it was memories like those that triggered Rachel to have numerous drunken parties.  
 _Knock._  
“What is with that fucking knock?” Eileen stood up. She followed Rachel to the door. So did Cynthia; they were a team. Rachel grabbed the doorknob, somewhat weary, then angry. Open.  
Rachel stepped out into the white hall with white floors and a white chill, looking to her left and right. The fluorescent light above them flickered. No stranger was in sight.  
“Follow me, girls.”  
They exited the apartment and walked down the hall to their right, an army of clicking heels. Rachel almost stumbled to the ground, but Cynthia and Eileen caught her on both her sides. The hall echoed with laughter. They reached the corner and turned it swiftly. Emptiness.  
“Hmph.” Rachel's detective work reached a dead end.  
“Someone's jealous they weren't invited,” said Eileen, quietly.  
Rachel turned around. “Do you think it was Mike?”  
“I don't know,” Cynthia said, looking behind her.  
Rachel brushed past them and started walking back to her apartment.  
“He has something for me, _but I sure don't have something for you_!” she yelled to the ceiling, tearing off her bunny ears.  
“Rachel, shush!” Eileen called. Worried, she looked at Cynthia, who shrugged and took a sip of her tequila sunrise, which she had forgotten she'd taken with her. Alcohol works wonders. 

Back in the apartment, Rachel shoved herself into the middle of her guests and slowly danced to the music, draining out the previous poison she felt. Cynthia herself danced to the food table, singing the words of the song playing.

_'You touched my body once  
It burns me still softly'_

_“Never forgets, never again will be,”_ she sang as she dipped a chip into her guacamole. Half of it had been eaten.  
 _“I cry.”_ Chew. “No I don't, cause' damn that is good. Right?”  
Eileen stood beside her and mimicked Cynthia, trying her dip.  
“Right,” Eileen said. Chew. “I have another party to go to tomorrow night. I seem to be popular.”  
“Oh you bet! Is it another costume one?”  
“No, thank God.” Chew. “I wonder who knocked on the door, really.”  
“I don't know... I don't really care I guess, too drunk.” She grabbed a bottle of Grenadine off the kitchen island to prepare a new sunrise. Slip! Fwoom. Down the bottle went, crashing on the hardwood floor with most of the shards sliding towards the door.  
“Shit!”  
Rachel poked her head out of the makeshift mosh pit, eyes squinting. “Don't hurt yourself.” She disappeared again.  
Cynthia got down on her knees to witness the damage closer.  
“Watch out. I'll find a broom or something,” Eileen said.  
The thick grenadine slowly leveled itself out on the floor, spreading after the sudden trauma. Some swam for the door. Cynthia followed its river with her eyes, then gazed at the crack of light under the door; an unbroken strip. She expected it to be disturbed by the shadows of feet, from the person who knocked. Stare.  
The light remained unbroken, no one was there.  
She realized her palms were sitting in the middle of the mess. She lifted them off the ground and slowly turned over her blood-stained hands. No cuts from the glass, it was only grenadine.  
“Cynthia, c'mon.” Eileen got down to Cynthia's level and helped pull her up. “You okay?”  
“It's all good.”  
After seeing she was okay, two guests who had come to help returned to the living room.  
Cynthia leaned back against the kitchen island, arching her back with her hands on the edge of the counter-top, leaving sticky red spots. Exhale. 

_I think I've drank enough._

After the mess was cleaned up, and the paper towel roll ran dry, her previous thought was simply forgotten. Cynthia made herself a lime margarita, deciding that a sunrise wouldn't be the same without the grenadine. She turned to Eileen.  
“Let's go dance.” 

_' - like a flower in the basement waiting for a lonely death.'_

 

The party ended with some guests sleeping on couches, and others taking the subway home tightly together because of the recent stabbing. Rachel stumbled over to Cynthia and Eileen, the only people that were still seemingly alive.  
“I'm gonna stay up a lil' more, Henry might come.” Her speech was slurred.  
“Henry's not coming Rachel, just get some sleep,” Eileen assured.  
“Oh.. okay, well, if you see him tell him I'm 'ere and everything's good, come right on in.”  
“We will. Now hunker down girl, it's time for bed.”  
“I had a fantastic time, hun. I'll call you tomorrow,” Cynthia said, picking up her empty dish.  
“Okay ladies.” She had a cheeky smile. “Get home safely now.”

“It was great getting to know you. Glad we could get drunk together,” Cynthia told Eileen in the lobby before they parted. With their feet sore, they held their high-heeled shoes in their hands.  
“Yeah, you too. We're good at it.” Eileen yawned. “You take care of yourself, okay?  
She made her way up the stairs to reach the upper levels, disappearing. Cynthia was alone.

She placed a bowl beside her bed, ready to catch her alcohol. She curled up naked, unbound by her tight corset and stockings. She took her hair apart, and it freely webbed across the sheets.  
This lively, daring woman fell into a deep, innocent sleep, and there she dreamed of a place that she didn't like very much, a place that confused reality (rock) with dream (water). She was lost, and couldn't find the exit. She never awoke.


End file.
